Wolleward and weetshoed wente I forth after 
As a recchelees renk that [reccheth of no wo], 
And yede forth lik a lorel al my lif tyme, 
Til I weex wery of the world and wilned eft to slepe, 
And lened me to a Lenten - and longe tyme I slepte; 
Reste me there and rutte faste til ramis palmarum. 
Of gerlis and of Gloria, laus gretly me dremed 
And how osanna by organye olde folk songen, 

And of Cristes passion and penaunce, the peple that ofraughte. 
Oon semblable to the Samaritan, and somdeel to Piers the Plowman, 
Barefoot on an asse bak bootles cam prikye, 
Withouten spores other spere; spakliche he loked, 
As is the kynde of a knyght that cometh to be dubbed, 
To geten hym gilte spores on galoches ycouped. 
Thanne was Feith in a fenestre, and cryde 'At Fili David!' 
As dooth an heraud of armes whan aventrous cometh to iustes. 
Olde Jewes of Jerusalem for joye thei songen, 
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. 
Thanne I frayned at Feith what al that fare bymente, 
And who sholde juste in Jerusalem. 'jesus,' he seide, 
'And fecche that the fend claymeth - Piers fruyt the Plowman.' 
'Is Piers in this place?' quod I, and he preynte on me. 
'This Jesus of his gentries wol juste in Piers armes, 
In his helm and in his haubergeon - humana natura. 
That Crist be noght biknowe here for consummatus Deus, 
In Piers paltok the Plowman this prikiere shal ryde; 
For no dynt shal hym dere as in deitate Patris.' 
'Who shal juste with Jesus?' quod I, 'Jewes or scrybes?' 
'Nay,' quod Feith, 'but the fend and fals doom to deye. 
Deeth seith he shal fordo and adoun brynge 
Al that lyveth or loketh in londe or in watre. 
Lif seith that he lieth, and leieth his lif to wedde 
That, for al that Deeth kan do, withinne thre daies to walke 
And fecche fro the fend Piers fruyt the Plowman, 
And legge it ther hym liketh, and Lucifer bynde, 

And forbete and adoun brynge bale-deeth for evere
O Mors ero mors tua!' 
Thanne cam Pilatus with muche peple, sedens pro tribunali, 
To se how doghtiliche Deeth sholde do, and deme hir botheres right. 
The Jewes and the justieeayeins Jesu thei weere, 
And al the court on hym cryde ' Crucifige!' sharpe. 
Tho putte hym forth a p[e]lour bifore Pilat and seide, 
'This Jesus of oure Jewes temple japed and despised, 
To fordoon it on o day, and in thre dayes after 
Edifie it eft newe - here he stant that seide it - 
And yit maken it as muche in alle manere poyntes 
Bothe as long and as large a lofte and by grounde.' 
' Crucifige!' quod a cachepol, ' I warante hym a wicche!' 
' Tolle, tolle!' quod another, and took of kene thornes, 
And bigan of [gr]ene thorn a garland to make, 
And sette it sore on his heed and seide in envye, 
'A ve, rabyt' quod that ribaud - and threw reedes at hym, 
Nailed hym with thre nailes naked on the roode, 
And poison on a poole thei putte up to hise lippes, 
And beden hym drynken his deeth-yvel - hise dayes were ydone - 
And [seiden], ' If that thow sotil be, help now thiselve; 
If thow be Crist and kynges sone, com down of the roode; 
Thanne shul we leve that lif thee loveth and wol noght lete thee deye!' 
' Consummatum est,' quod Crist, and comsede for to swoune, 
Pitousliche and pale as a prison that deieth; 
The lord of lif and of light tho leide hise eighen togideres. 
The day for drede withdrough and derk bicam the sonne. 
The wal waggede and cleef, and al the world quaved. 
Dede men for that dene come out of depe graves, 
And tolde why that tempeste so longe tyme durede. 
'For a bitter bataille,' the dede body seide; 
'Lif and Deeth in this derknesse, hir oon fordeoth hir oother. 
Shal no wight wite witterly who shal have the maistrie 
Er Sonday aboute sonne risyng' - and sank with that til erthe. 

Some seide that he was Goddes sone, that so faire deyde
Vere filius Dei erat iste. 
And some seide he was a wicche - 'Good is that we assaye 
Wher he be deed or noght deed, doun er he be taken.' 
Two theves also tholed deeth that tyme 
Upon a croos bisides Crist - so was the comune lawe. 
A cachepol cam forth and craked bothe hir legges, 
And hir armes after of either of tho theves. 
Ac was no boy so boold Goddes body to touche; 
For he was knyght and kynges sone, Kynde foryaf that throwe 
That noon harlot were so hardy to leyen hond upon hym. 
Ac ther cam forth a knyght with a kene spere ygrounde, 
Highte Longeus, as the lettre telleth, and longe hadde lore his sight. 
Bifore Pilat and oother peple in the place he hoved. 
Maugree his manye teeth he was maad that tyme 
To [justen with Jesus, this blynde Jew Longeus]. 
For alle thei were unhardy, that hoved on horse or stode, 
To touchen hym or to tasten hym or taken hym doun of roode, 
But this blynde bacheler, that baar hym thorugh the herte. 
The b